The Babe-Magnet and the Thinking Man's Crumpet
by cactusnell
Summary: Greg Lestrade wants to use Sherlock to attract women, but Molly has other ideas. Sherlolly


The lab at St. Bart's Hospital, London, was quiet, peaceful on this late Friday afternoon as Dr. Molly Hooper prepared to end her shift. The same could not be said for the corridor just outside of said lab, as she could see, through the glass window in the door, that two men seemed to be arguing in the hallway. The interesting part was that one of the men was Sherlock Holmes, and, against all odds, he seemed to be losing. At least if you judged by the look on his face. Finally, he threw his hands in the air, turned away from the other man, one DI Greg Lestrade, and, pushing the door with such force that it hit the wall and almost collided with his perfect profile on the rebound, he made his way into the lab, addressing Molly without preamble.

"Molly, would you call me a 'babe magnet'?"

"Not to your face, Sherlock!" Molly giggled.

The detective looked annoyed. "Seriously, Dr. Hooper, in your wildest dreams, would you ever think to refer to me as a 'babe magnet'?"

Molly, reliving in her mind's eye some of those wildest dreams, began to blush furiously.

"Are you quite alright Molly. You look a bit overheated?" Not waiting for a response, the man babbled on. "Gary just had the effrontery to refer to me as a 'babe magnet', among other things! Me, the world's only consulting detective! The man brilliant enough to solve all his crimes…"

"Not 'all', surely…"

"Well. most…"

"Really, Sherlock?"

"Perhaps we can agree on a 'healthy percentage', then?"

"Fine. A 'healthy percentage'."

"And he has seen fit to reduce me to the status of a babe magnet! Can you believe it?"

Molly was now giggling at the man's discomfort with his unfamiliar title. "Well, I believe I would have to know in what context he was speaking, Sherlock. He wasn't making a pass at you, was he?" Molly continuing giggling.

"Of course not! He wanted to use me to attract women. Or 'birds', as he said, at least once. Am I supposed to put seed in my hair and prance around this club…"

"What club are you talking about, Sherlock? Calm down, and be more specific, please."

Sherlock Holmes took a deep breath before he continued. "Gareth would like me to accompany him to a club to assist him in his pursuit of women. He said I could be a sort of 'reverse wingman'. I don't really understand what that means. What is a 'wingman'?"

"It's a rather sexist practice, Sherlock, where the wingman will approach the less attractive of a pair of women, drawing her attention so that his companion can move in on the more attractive woman."

"Ah, I'm beginning to see his logic…"

"But what this whole 'reverse' thing?""

"He told me I was to stand at the bar, looking all 'GQ', attracting woman. He then implied that his more friendly and kindly demeanor would win over any woman I had initially attracted, once I opened my mouth!" He now looked a bit puzzled. "Molly, one of these days you must give me a lesson in this type of slang, as you seem to understand it more readily than I do. What in heaven's name is a 'grenade'? A 'cockblocker' I think I can figure out for myself…"

"Careful, there, mate!" Molly held up her hand, signalling him to stop speaking. "I take it you don't want to go?"

"Of course not, Molly. There will be dancing! It's a dance club, after all."

"You like to dance, Sherlock. You've told me so."

"I love to DANCE, Molly. Not gyrate around in an unrhythmic fashion while being visually assaulted by lights flashing at a speed designed to induce seizures!"

"So just tell him 'no'. Say you're busy. You have other plans…"

"I never have other plans, Molly. I am not exactly a social animal."

Molly could be somewhat insulted, as he often spent the evenings with her, at her flat or his, eating takeaway and watching crap telly, two lonely people with nothing better to do. Well, to be honest, Molly could think of something much better to do, but the thought, or the inclination, never occurred to Sherlock Holmes.

"So just go! How bad could it be? A few women will flirt with you, you'll insult them, Greg will come to their rescue and get a few numbers…"

"You know I hate flirting, Molly!"

"I know no such thing, Sherlock Holmes! You flirt with me all the time…"

"To secure special favors, and gain access to certain body parts, Dr. Hooper…"

"My point exactly. Same thing. So go along with Lestrade, buy the ladies a bevvy or two, maybe get yourself invited to a knees up after closing. Perhaps you'll find someone who's gagging for it so much she'll tolerate your rudeness and you won't end your evening completely frustrated!"

"Molly, are you even speaking the mother tongue at this point?"

But Molly could barely answer for laughing so much. She finally composed herself when she noticed the detective glaring down at her with an annoyed look. "Sherlock, perhaps now is not the time, and it really is none of my business, but we've never shared such an, uh, intimate discussion before, and I'm curious, so may I ask, is the reason you don't want to act as, eh, bait for Greg because you're a bit jealous. I mean, uh, are you gay?"

The tall man rolled his eyes in dismissal. "No, Dr. Hooper, I am not gay. Neither am I bi-sexual, nor asexual, nor omni-sexual, nor any other descriptive you can use apart from heterosexual! I don't want to act as bait, because, well, have you considered what most often happens to the bait, Dr. Hooper?" Molly looked blank. Relieved, but blank. "It gets eaten, Molly! Consumed! Destroyed! Shredded!"

"Okay…"

"I do not wish to be pounced upon by a sexually aroused stranger wishing to use me to gratify her baser urges…"

"Welcome to a woman's lot as closing time approaches at the local, Sherlock!" But then, more seriously, she said, "Sherlock, perhaps you're simply nervous about your inexperience?"

"I am not a virgin, contrary to popular lore! I have extensive experience, although most of it is not recent, aside from a few instances of…. Well, that's neither here nor there!" The last few words were muttered, rather self-consciously. "Molly, I am a healthy male who does, indeed, engage in sex from time to time, on as as-needed basis. On most occasions, I simply take matters into my own hands…" He stopped suddenly, realizing the double entendre of his words when Molly Hooper doubled over in laughter. Then he burst into laughter, too.

When Molly regained her composure, she continued her rather intimate inquisition, hoping he would take it as a friend's curiosity, and concern. "Sherlock, since you choose not to indulge, I can only assume that you don't find sex particularly enjoyable?"

"On the contrary, when done correctly, I find sex very enjoyable. Addictive, almost. But unlike drugs, it tends to sharpen my senses, not dull them. But the pursuit of sex can be very distracting. Hence my reticence where it is involved. One can waste so much time in the chase, that there is very little time left for other matters. Best to treat it as a basic need, to be attended to when absolutely necessary, then forgotten until the need arises again, so to speak," he gave the pathologist a warning look, as he could tell his words evoked in her images of something, aside from his need, arising.

"That all sounds very detached, very clinical, Sherlock. Have you ever had sex with someone you care deeply about?"

"As I said before, I am not a social animal, Molly. The list of people about whom I care deeply is severely limited. Family is excluded from the list of possibilities, for obvious reasons, John and Lestrade, for reasons concerning my sexual preferences. And Mrs. Hudson, although I perceive that she has all the makings of an excellent 'cougar', as I believe is the term in question, is not someone to whom I would readily wish to fall prey!"

"That does rather limit your choices…"

"And then, of course, there is you. A 'thinking man's crumpet', as Lestrade called you. But as you have shown no inclination…"

"What?"

"How many times have I flirted with you over the years, Dr. Hooper? To no avail…"

"Are you kidding, Sherlock? You always got whatever you wanted! Access to the lab! Fingers and toes, ad nauseum! I came out to crime scenes in the middle of the night! I helped you…"

"Yes, but you never flirted back! You simply gave in as if you couldn't be bothered with playing the game!"

"Sherlock, I flirted with you all the time. I would lean over you at every opportunity, falling into you half the time…"

"I thought you were being clumsy…"

"I would bite my lip, and lower my eyes…"

"Not shy, then?"

"Flipping my hair?"

"I thought it was getting in your way!"

"I even told you how much you looked like that hottie Benedict Cumberbatch!"

"Who the bloody hell is Benedict Bumbercatch?! And what is a 'hottie'?"

"My god, Sherlock, for the world's greatest detective, as you credit yourself, you can be remarkably dense when it comes to romance. And I certainly will not let Greg Lestrade take advantage of that vulnerability. Give me your mobile!"

"Why?"

"Just hand it over, Sherlock!" So the detective did so, and the pathologist started typing furiously, then pressed the send button. "Greg will not be expecting you to join him this evening, Sherlock, as I have explained that you have plans which, evidently, have taken several years to come to fruition. Come on, then, let's get out of here!" And after retrieving her things from her office, that's exactly what they did, Molly dragging the detective impatiently toward the exit, while Sherlock Holmes smiled smugly to himself.

Greg Lestrade was still at the Yard when he received an incoming text from Sherlock's number.

THE BABE MAGNET CAN'T MAKE IT TONIGHT. THE THINKING MAN'S CRUMPET HAS PERMANENTLY ATTACHED HERSELF AND HAS NO INTENTION OF LETTING GO! - MOLLY

Lestrade chuckled as he slipped his mobile back into his pocket. The bloody bastard pulled it off after all!


End file.
